Something
by Broccoli-xxxx
Summary: It can't be nothing. Unusual pairing, RonDean. Set in HBP. Read & review.


_A/N: Done as a request for an unusual pairing from a friend, err EMILY. (: RonDean, circa-HBP. See if you like it, it's pretty short. Enjoy.  
_

* * *

Something

It's some time after Dean and Ginny break up, and Ron snaps.

It wasn't a big deal, really, or at least it shouldn't have been; Dean was heading into the common room in the portrait hole, Ron was heading out, and suddenly Ron had shoved the other boy into the wall roughly, and snarled, _"Move it, Thomas."_

To his immense surprise – although, really, it shouldn't have been – Dean replied by shoving Ron in kind, and roaring, _"What if I don't, Weasley?"_

Dean storms off fuming, and Ron stood for a few spare moments, shocked into silence, and vaguely sheepish.

Maybe he shouldn't have opened his mouth.

Maybe he shouldn't have gotten so annoyed at Dean for Ginny.

Maybe Dean was just having a bad day.

Either way, he can't help noticing how he can still feel where Dean's hands had pushed him, and how it stings, not in a wholly unpleasant way.

He sighed, and left.

**xXx**

Ginny has moved on, and is finally with Harry. They've never been happier.

Dean is fine. No, really. He's _fine_.

Except he can't stop staring at that mop of orange hair, even though it's the wrong one. There's something about Ron nowadays that he can't ignore. He thinks maybe it's the way he doesn't play chess anymore, just sits in an armchair idly thumbing through a textbook, eyes glazed over so Dean can tell he's not paying attention.

There's something vaguely uncomfortable about watching Ron so much, but it doesn't stop him.

He wakes up from his contemplation of Ron Weasley to see the object of his fascination in front of him, face drawn.

"Hey, Dean. Sorry for pushing you, a while back. Y'know, the portrait hole."

Dean paused, one eyebrow raised. Possibly it's the way that Ron's face is red under the freckles, possibly it's the fact Ron's nails are chewed off, possibly it's the fact that there's no one around and he's bored.

Suddenly, Dean thinks just maybe he needed a push. That this feels a little like hope.

"It's okay, Ron. Let's go for a walk."

Ron agrees wordlessly and they head through the portrait hole side by side, despite them both being tall, broad, and embarrassed.

And while he can remember that this is the place where Ron lost his head, all Dean can think about is how Ron's fingertips brush against his occasionally, and wonder at how quickly this happened.

**xXx**

The first kiss was certainly memorable.

Dean and Ron had taken to going to the lake late at night; usually just as other students were going in, to avoid being scolded for disobeying the curfew.

They decide they don't care; _they'll go outside when they want_.

Sitting on the shore, watching the shadow of the giant squid just under the surface of the lake, Ron wondered why and how his life had taken this unexpected turn. Here he was with Dean Thomas, and not Harry or Hermione; well, Harry's got Ginny now (he tries not to fume at the idea of his best mate doing…_things_ with his little sister), and Hermione's always had her books.

Yet somehow, it's not so bad. Because they're sitting close together, and he can almost feel the energy humming in Dean's bones.

He turns to look at Dean. He's watching the squid with a strange expression on his face – his eyes are half-lidded, as if he's dozing, but the eyes below them are sparkling with an irresistible something and Ron needs, right there and then, to kiss him.

Trust Dean to know the exact moment to turn and question, "What?" with the most charming smile on his face.

It doesn't go quite to plan. Ron's not used to kissing boys, per se, and there's a lot of teeth and rough stubble, but when they get past that, it's wonderful and awful at once.

Then they pull apart and Dean looks down, and Ron looks up at the sky, the biggest fool and the greatest genius in the world, Dean looking so peaceful that Ron can't help but love it and fear it simultaneously.

It's not hope, it's something more.

**xXx**

Dumbledore dies.

Dean's got tears in his eyes and sits next to Seamus, his best friend, who's crossing himself and whispering in Latin, which sounds so strange with his Irish dialect that Dean can't help but smile about how death changes everyone, and brings them together.

He can see Ron with Harry and Hermione in a row a few in front of where he's sitting. The sad shake in the slope of Ron's shoulders tells him all he needs to know, and he doesn't want to feel jealous of the way he's holding Hermione, but _damn it, he does._

After the funeral – the marble casket standing proudly in the grounds – Dean thinks about how the old wizard was possibly the greatest ever, and how he got to know him. How this world is so much bigger than he'd thought, and how somehow Dean Thomas – the artistic, maths-addled boy from London – was now part of a world where magic is real.

Though, he sees all the proof of magic he needs, when he can see Ron trekking out to their spot by the lake through a frosted-over window – it's unusually cold, as if nature knows one of their own has passed – and decides to follow.

It's over, apparently. Or at least that's what Ron's saying. He recalls something about _travelling, not going back to Hogwarts for seventh year, needing to do something about all of this._

He hears himself ask why that changes anything, and hears Ron say that it changes _everything._

Somehow Dean doesn't want to let go yet, and grabs ahold of Ron's wrist in the single saddest gesture ever. Apparently he's got a frightening look in his eyes, because Ron stops, and touches his palm to Dean's cold cheek in a clumsy but tender gesture.

And even though Ron's here, touching him, breathing out air right in front of him, he knows that he's already gone with Harry and Hermione to save the world.

Ron looks sad as he says, "Besides, it's not as if we were anything in the first place."

Dean nods, and tries to stop thinking as he watches Ron's back as his hope leaves.

_Somewhere, somehow along the line, maybe not in the first place, we were something._

_And you know it._


End file.
